


You Sent Me Three Hearts In The Mail!

by CookieCatSU



Category: DuckTales (Cartoon 2017)
Genre: F/F, Feelings Realization, Fluff and Humor, Lena acts tough but she's soft, Lena is a Sabrewing (Disney: DuckTales), Lena's a sweet little shadow getting used to having feelings™, Lena: Nah fam, The Cast: You like her, Violet is a Good Sister, and Lena and Webby are clueless dorks, especially for Webby
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-09
Updated: 2021-01-09
Packaged: 2021-03-12 18:20:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,146
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28639917
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CookieCatSU/pseuds/CookieCatSU
Summary: Really liking someone doesn't mean you love them, right? There's a difference, isn't there?Or; Everyone knows about Webby and Lena before they do.
Relationships: Lena (Disney: DuckTales)/Webby Vanderquack
Comments: 4
Kudos: 70





	You Sent Me Three Hearts In The Mail!

"3 heart eyed faces" Violet gives a rather clinical nod, "Is this a sign?"

Her eyes are half lidded, slanted. She looks particularly unruffled, as she gazes up at Lena with a questioning quirk of her curved beak, but Lena _knows_ better. She knows her sis well enough to know she's basically choking with laughter. On the inside, at least. 

The slight bob of her throat absolutely betrays her.

"What?" Lena rasps out a laugh, rolling her eyes up to the ceiling of their shared bedroom. "Viiiiiii, you're talkin' in riddles again"

Violet huffed quietly, crawling up and over Lena to get to her side of the bed. She plops down atop the nesting of purple blankets, and points at Lena's phone screen, where Webbigail's text chain is still displayed for all to see.

"You sent 3 heart eyed emojis. That's more than the usual two, and indicates an increased level of affection" She pauses for dramatic affect, then,

"You like her"

"Violet… it's an emoji. A couple of yellow circles and hearts don't mean anything… kay?"

"May I?" Violet points at her phone.

Lena smirks. "No"

Violet makes a noise in the back of her throat. Contemplative. Then, smug, mischievous, toward the very last note.

She's planning something. Lena sees it in the shine of her eyes, even in the half dark, illuminated only by the LEDs of her phone's display. She shakes her head, shielding the device from who knows what, "Oh, no you don't, Egghead"

Violet pounces on Lena, scrambling for her phone. Lena lifts it as high as she can, arm extended high enough Violet can't reach, upper body leant on the headboard. Violet's laughing now, grabbing with swiping hands, relentlessly determined, ready to close in for the kill.

"No. This is mine"

"I will extract that cellular device, Lena"

"Over my shadow body!"

* * *

Ms. Beakley side eyes Lena, a lot like an unruly pet you can't help but love, even whilst contemplating new arrangements. 

Lena finds the fact that Beakley hasn't gazed away from her for longer than 2 minutes at a time for the last half hour, even while dusting, and arguing off and on with Duckworth the half dead jerk butler, very, very unnerving. It doesn't help that Lena is literally only eating a sandwich- quite the innocent action if you ask her, and Ms. Beakley is still staring a hole through her head.

Beakley finishes dusting the stone bust of Scrooge sitting in the hallway, and moves to pass the kitchen on her way to the dining room. Lena decides immediately that she has to figure out what she thinks she did, so she can tell her that she _absolutely_ didn't, under _any_ circumstances, do that awful thing she thinks she did. Unless it's like the lava lamp incident, in which case she'll whistle cheerfully and pretend like she had nothing to do with it.

Lena smiles, and waves. "Hey, Ms. Brit. What's up?"

Ms. Beakley nods in acknowledgement. "Lena" 

She does not call her Shadow. Nor Baby Shadow. Or Little Magica. Lena smiles, ever so slightly. Yep. Baby steps. Baby steps.

"Do you like… want some crumpets? What do British people eat?"

Beakley sends Lena a _look,_ unamused, but not quite angry. "No thank you"

Lena squirms in discomfort. Her PB & J suddenly doesn't look nearly so appealing. "You've been staring at me for half an hour. I promise I'm not gonna kill anybody" She huffs, crossing her arms swift and indignant. "I'm not planning anything, okay?"

"I never said-"

"Your eyes said it!"

Beakley sighs, and walks further into the kitchen, toward Lena. Truthfully, the duckling can't decide if she should jump from her chair and make a run for it, or sit still and hope for the best.

When Beakley reaches her, Lena promptly decides to see where this was going, though she's probably chosen death.

"I know we haven't always seen eye to eye, dear, and I'm sorry for my fault in that. I do think, however, that it's about high time we worked past that, especially given the circumstances" Ms. Beakley rests a hand on Lena's shoulder, gentle, like a… (not like an aunt, never again) but, like a parent, maybe.

"Don't you agree?" Beakley asks, and Lena decides now is not the time to question it.

"Yeah" She says, with a jerky nod.

With that, Ms. Beakley is apparently sated.

* * *

"Oh my goodness! Lena! What are you doing here?" Her laugh is tumbling and awkward, pitched high with genuine surprise. She also just shoved something behind her back, fast enough that Lena couldn't see exactly what it was, but she definitely saw something. Okay. That's definitely not suspicious. At all. Totally.

"You said you had homework, so I thought I'd stop by, maybe help out. I brought snacks. Vi's pops buy the best stuff"

Lena watches with a raised brow as Webby turns away, toward her desk, snapping a notebook closed with the slap of pages- to then drop it on the floor and kick it under her desk. She whips back around, with a wide grin that doesn't raise any suspicions whatsoever.

"That's great! I already finished the really difficult parts, but we can do the rest together if you want" She pauses, then adds hastily, "In the kitchen! We really should do the rest in the kitchen. There's more space in there"

"I already saw the notebook, Pink"

"Whaaaat? What notebook?"

"The one you just kicked under your desk. Smooth moves, by the way"

"I really don't know what you're talking about" Webby says with a laugh, brittle with anxiety. Then she grabs Lena's hand and all but drags her away from the room. Lena let's her.

* * *

Gosalyn sees things no one else does. She's got eyes like a hawk; x-ray glasses inlaid in her head, always piercing straight through flimsy excuses and posturing to the heart of things.

She laughs at Lena, jumping a bit on her toes, before grabbing at Lena's arm.

"You like her, don't you!" Gosalyn exclaims, voice bright with recognition, thick with bemused laughter. She's loud, and Lena immediately shushes her.

They're in a library, after all.

"Quiet" Lena snaps, before finally, finally tearing her gaze from Webby. "You're going to get us kicked out"

There's a loud shushing noise from the little librarian hunkered in the corner, as if in confirmation of Lena's claims.

Gosalyn shrugs carelessly, plopping down in the chair beside Lena. "Fine, but I refuse to be silenced"

"Sure…" Lena rolls her eyes. 

Then her gaze alights back on Webby, who's now rushed to and from the Public Library's section on Arcane Magic, and has clutched in her arms what meager supply they have on the topic. There are books falling out of her grip, here and there, and she looks utterly giddy, even with smudges of dust on her forehead, and in her hair.

Lena finds herself sighing softly at the sight, calm, relaxed, in a way she rarely ever is. Then she feels the burn of eyes on the side of her head, and remembers the duckling seated beside her, so smug it rolls off of her in waves.

Lena glares at Gosalyn. "And I don't _like_ like her"

Gosalyn looks at Webby, then looks back at Lena. Back at Webby, back at Lena.

"This hurts, so, so much" She calls, dramatically mournful, "I can't- I can't watch you lie to yourself like this" Gosalyn bursts into laughter.

If Gosalyn howls, a moment later, it has absolutely nothing to do with Lena kicking her in the shin under the table. And she'd swear to that.

* * *

It's freezing outside. The 3rd evening in January has just passed, so it only really makes sense that it would be cold. Lena's never actually experienced cold, quite like this, has never had a truly physical form to experience it with, more flesh than shadow and illusionist's tape. When she was Magica's puppet she could see and touch, but everything was muted, dull.

She shivers harshly, whole body shaking. She pulls her blue sweater tighter around her body, but it does little to protect her from the unyielding assault of the wind.

Her face is red, breath crystallizing near immediately after leaving her beak.

"Are you sure today is a good day to be doing this? Maybe we could come back when it's less cold"

Webby shakes her head. She rolls a ball of snow between her hands, unconcerned about the way the melt of the ice soaks through her gloves. Lena shivers in sympathy.

"No, today's the perfect day for this. We can't build snowmen, or have snowball fights when it's warm, silly" Webby giggles at Lena's apparent faux pas, turning to face the other girl with one hand on her hip, the other cradling the ball of snow she's still adding to. Her pink hat is skewed, pulled far over the left side of her forehead, and her cheeks are even redder than Lena's from the chill.

Lena, quite suddenly and inexplicably, very much wants to hug Webby. Just wrap her up in her arms, and rest her beak atop her head, and never let go. She chalks it up to the cold.

It is freezing, and extra body heat would surely remedy that.

Lena doesn't think it has anything to do with the sudden, sparkling light in Webby's eyes. At least, she's pretty sure it doesn't.

* * *

Magica knows exactly which of those 4 brats to target. The answer is obvious.

An imbecile could see it.

Could see the strings, from puppet to puppeteer, tied around the wrists of that pink bowed, little miscreant, cut from the same thread weaved into those friendship bracelets. The cause of her creation's insolence.

"You got _attached,_ shadow. That was your first mistake"

The set of that amalgamation's jaw is defiant, stubborn. Little fists of shadowy umbre fake flesh tighten into angry balls. Magica is reminded of when she'd first called upon this silly, naive little spirit, first freed it, trapped it, within the confines of her own shadow. Magica's image. Her helpless little mini-me.

"You can't just go around hurting people" The shadow roars, and there's a spark there, that hadn't existed before. A desperation, that's entirely new.

It's pink glazed, and purple stitched, glowing blue just beneath- resting, somewhere, in that murky gray heart of hers.

Magica grins. As if she can't see it, as if the shadow's, _her_ shadow's thoughts aren't laid totally bare for her to see, to sift through, examine and pull out and discard as she pleases.

Magica laughs. "Lena, Lena. That's where you're wrong"

* * *

Really liking someone doesn't mean you love them, right? There's a difference, isn't there?

Lena knows, on some level, that there must be. After all, not every friend is a lover, because that would just be weird… and life would definitely become really, really confusing. So that's established; there's a distinction.

Lena just doesn't know what it is.

She could analyze her relationship with Webby for hours, but she might as well admit it now: She has no idea where that boundary is for them, nor if it's been crossed, or even what it would look like if they had crossed it.

So, she lays awake, sprawled across her bedroom floor, wondering. She glances briefly at where she and Webby are connected by the hand, fingers intertwined, and _wonders_. Holding hands with friends was normal, wasn't it? Something every set of pals did?

Except, she most certainly never held hands with Gosalyn, or Dewey. She never spent hours hanging out with Huey, doing nothing, but not feeling bored. And she'd definitely _never_ listen to Louie prattle on about some book she'd never read, with a smile and laughter and bemused commentary.

Only Webby.

She stares at their hands, cinched together, Webby's slightly elevated and still adorned with her matching friendship bracelet, and considers.

Surely, at least some friends held hands. Good, close friends. Friends you liked and cared about and never wanted to let go of.

"Webby" She says, and her voice is quiet and raspy at near 11 o'clock at night. She waits for the other to stir, before saying anything else. "Quick question?"

Webby turns, smiles, and Lena's stomach clenches so tightly she feels a little sick. It's… not a bad kind of sick.

"Yeah, Lena? What's up? Is it a headache?" She stretches as best she can, without getting up, nor releasing Lena's hand, bending like a kitten. A quiet yawn leaves her beak, before her full attention is centered on Lena. "I know the lasers in that temple Scrooge brought us to today were bright, and you got a bunch in the eye!"

Lena shakes her head. She clicks her tongue, nervous. "No, that's not it. I'm just wondering. Is it normal, for friends to hold hands like this?"

Webby blinks in the semi-dark, surprised and rapid, and for a moment, Lena thinks she might see the beginnings of tears in her eyes. But then she blinks again, and they're gone, accompanied by a smile, cracking wide across her face.

"Not always. But it can be! Different friends are different! And that makes every friendship unique, so, it isn't weird, or anything"

She clutches Lena's hand tighter. Pulls at the cyan twined bracelet dangling from her wrist. 

Smiles in that awkward way that happens a lot when Lena asks the wrong questions, though she's still hard pressed to determine exactly what those are (though this inquiry now, definitely comes to mind).

Lena lets out a breath she hadn't realized she was holding, at that statement, confirmation. _It's not weird. I still like you_. "Okay" Then, to clear the air, "You know I'm just not used to this whole, caring about people, thing. Not sure how the rules work"

Webby laughs, and says, "Don't worry, you've got it. You're the bestest friend I've ever had!"

Lena isn't sure why that makes her heart flutter, just so. 

It just does.

She really doesn't mind, anyway.

* * *

"Hey, Hat, where's-"

"Webby? In the attic, organizing her mystical rock collection"

Lena's brow furrows, but she shrugs off the momentary surprise, just nodding in appreciation.

"Thanks" She calls, and shoots past him down the hall, and up the stairs.

The next time it happens, it's with Dewey. She barely gets through knocking on the mansion's door (massive, by the way, so huge she feels like an ant standing in front of it with the knocker barely hanging from her fingertips), when Dewey appears, looking briefly through the crack. Then he throws it open, grins, and points down the main hall.

"Webby's thatta way"

Lena wonders why he'd assume that she wanted to see Webby, but also doesn't linger long enough to question it, instead stepping past him to do just that: see Webby.

It's when Louie stops her as soon as she steps into the kitchen, careless, Pep soda in one hand, and says, "Yo, Webby's in the dining hall," that Lena really starts to question it.

Mainly, how the heck he _knows_.

"Okay, can you guys like, read minds or something? 'Cause everytime I'm looking for Webby you predict it before I can even ask. Is triplet telepathy a thing, now?"

"Whenever you come here, it's always to see Webby" Louie replies, shrugging, "Doesn't take mind powers to figure that out" Then he pauses, quietly contemplative. "It's like she's your girlfriend or something, with how much your here… and then you start talking about her…"

He shrugs again. Takes his leave, chugging Pep as he goes.

* * *

Drake's a terrible babysitter. He's generally too distracted to really keep an eye on all of them, all six of them, including Lena and Violet. Add on the general havoc they tend to land themselves in, which he seemed sorely ill-prepared to deal with, and you had a slow motion disaster waiting to happen.

It's one of the quieter moments, though, between one mishap and the next.

"I think its cute"

Lena stares blankly at him. Her mouth opens and closes, and for a second all she can do is stare dumbfounded at him. Perhaps he hit his head on something, and is suffering a mini concussion.

"Dewey nearly falling through the second floor ceiling was cute?"

Drake balks, "What, no. I mean you and Webby"

Lena's blank stare doesn't clear.

"What?"

"You two really care about each other, and I think that's sweet. You always have each other's backs" He pauses, considers, hand at his chin. "You know, that kind of reminds me of Launchpad and I, now that I think about it"

Lena openly gapes at him, now. "Are you talking about you and your _boyfriend?"_

Drake flinches at the term. "Launchpad is not my boyfriend" He says, with a hasty scoff, and Lena hears an ache in there that rings especially true. The _what ifs,_ and the _why nots._

That's the moment it all clicks into place, for her.

* * *

Webby stares up at her, before glancing back down at the object in Lena's hands, weeks of work, compiled in one little parcel to be presented up.

As close to her heart as she could get.

"You're giving this to me," Webby asks, and she sounds surprised and mystified and utterly shell-shocked.

Lena nods. Runs a finger down the binding. "It's a notebook, kinda like yours. The one you threw under your desk before I could see it… just, less pink, more blue, still sparkly"

Webby reaches for it, and Lena hands it over.

She cracks it open. The first page is blue with runny ink, dripping down the page, but the words can still be made out.

_Roses are pink, violets are blue, kinda like me and you. I like you, and I hope you like me, and okay, I like you. I like you a lot. I'm sorry it doesn't rhyme but only so many words rhyme with you and blue, and I just really need to say that I like you._

_I like you a lot. Like a ton. Or whatever word is more than a ton._

_I really, really like you._

Webby glances up from the poem. Lena fidgets nervously, playing with a thread that'd come loose from her gray striped sweater. "It's a book of poems. There's uh, however many pages are in that notebook… I think 78 cause I tore out a few… of poems. So 78 poems… about you"

Webby's smile is honestly bright enough to rival the sun. Lena had never thought anything could get that bright, that warm, but she can't refute proper evidence.

Webby throws her arms around Lena, with a noise akin to relief.

"I love it, I love it, I _love_ it!" Webby sighs softly, "And I really, _really_ like you too"

Lena relaxes, and decides to just enjoy the hug.

It's... a really nice hug.

**Author's Note:**

> I've slept on Weblena too long. Think of this as my awakening. Seriously though, this ship is great!


End file.
